Don't be dead!
by anyrei1
Summary: Post "The Reichenbach Fall" John is devasted about Sherlock's death. When a new thread arise, Sherlock have to decide, how he could protect John.
1. Chapter 1: Rain

**Chapter 1: Rain**

"It just fits," Dr. John H. Watson thought grimly as he looked out of the window. The dark grey clouds hung low in the sky and swallowed all colours. It was raining. Nothing unusual in London this time of the year. But at the moment John preferred this weather more than sunshine, for the rain reflected his inner feelings perfectly. His therapist said he was going through a depressive phase caused by the trauma of losing his best friend. She had prescribed him drugs, but John had simply not taken them. He didn't want to feel better. He didn't want to forget his grief for Sherlock. He didn't want to forget Sherlock at all.

Sherlock had saved him. When John had returned from the war, he was broken. He didn't know how he should start over with his life. Then Sherlock had given him a new purpose. The loneliness that had crept into his life when he returned from Afghanistan had disappeared, when Sherlock let him into his life. He couldn't imagine a life without Sherlock and he didn't want to.  
John slumped in his chair with a sigh. He looked at the empty one by the window where Sherlock usually played the violin. He slowly shook his head and held his hand to his forehead.  
Why?

John closed his eyes and lost himself in his grief. In his mind, he was back at Sherlock's grave.__

'One more thing. One more miracle, Sherlock - for me. Don't be dead .. just for me. Just stop it. Stop this.'

John could feel his heart clenching and tears rising. Furious, he stood up and walked restlessly through the house. Sherlock was his best friend. He simply didn't understand. Why had he done this? Why had he told him such nonsense on the phone? That he had invented Moriarty and was a fraud. That made no sense.__

It's a trick. It's just a magic trick. 

John shook his head angrily. He could not believe it. What had happened on the roof? Lestrade had told him that they had found the body of Moriarty. The forensics revealed that he had killed himself. Why did Sherlock still had to jump? Even with Moriarty's death they still would have managed to prove his innocence. John knew Sherlock well enough to know how stubborn he was. Sherlock would never give up. That made no sense.

John opened the fridge - only to close it again. No severed heads, no blood or other unsavoury things were in it. John smiled as he thought of his daily fights with his best friend on this issue. Everything in this apartment reminded John of him. The ex-soldier let his head fall hard against the kitchen window. He didn't really watch the rainy streets, but was hanging on to his memories.

His first case with Sherlock. "A Study in Pink" as he called it in his blog. They pursued a cab in a mad chase through the streets of London. It was the moment when John forgot his cane at Angelo's. What his therapist hadn't managed to do, Sherlock accomplished in one day. John got his life back.

Mycroft had told him at some point that his discomfort went away because Sherlock had given him back the battlefield. John wasn't haunted by the war - he missed it. John knew that this was only partially true. In this first case, John had found out something else. He admired Sherlock. The Consultant Detective was a genius, a master of deduction. But he also had a weakness - a dark, self-destructive side. In this first case, John shot the man who wanted Sherlock to take the poison and thus saved his life. At that moment, John realised that he would protect Sherlock. This wonderful, brilliant man who was his best friend.

But in the end he didn't manage it. He hadn't been there in time to rescue Sherlock. John slowly slid down the wall on which he leaned against and gave his tears away at last.

On a flickering black and white video, you could see John Watson as he sat crouched on the floor. The video was displayed on a small laptop, standing in a dark room on a narrow table. A hand gently touched the screen at the point where John was shown in the video. Then the person walked to the phone that was next to the laptop. A text message was typed.__

Molly, please look after him. SH 


	2. Chapter 2: All hearts are broken

_**Chapter 2: All hearts are broken **_

When John finally woke up his whole body was aching. He had fallen asleep on the kitchen floor. Mrs. Hudson was standing beside him.

"Oh dear." She shook her head and looked at him pityingly, while she stroked over John's head. John pulled himself together with a groan.

"I must have fallen asleep. I'm sorry. "

Mrs. Hudson smiled encouragingly. "Miss Hooper is at the door. She wants to see you."

"Molly? Yes, okay, "John straightened his clothes and looked with surprise towards the hall, as Molly came up the stairs to John's flat.

"Hello John," she said, smiling shyly.

"Molly. This is a surprise. "

She smirked. "I brought breakfast and wanted to check on you."

"That's ... nice." He pointed to a chair at the table. "I'll make tea."

Molly put the bagels on the plate, which Mrs. Hudson gave to her, before she left the flat smiling.

"Aren't you usually at St. Barts at this time?"

She nodded. "I'm covered. I wanted to see you, as I said. And to tell you something."

John returned to the table with the fresh tea, sat down beside her and looked at her expectantly.

"I know that you are looking for a job at the moment. St. Barts is urgently looking for doctors. Mike approached me yesterday. He thinks it would be good to have you around... in this difficult time."

John looked down at the table. Just to not to have to look at her.

"That's nice of you. But it's only been a week. I don't know ... "

"Maybe the distraction will serve you well. Is being here not a constantly reminder of him?", she asked cautiously.

John angrily slapped his fist on the table, which made Molly wince.

"I'm sorry. I ... " John stood up and walked a few steps through the flat.

"I can't ... I just can't. I don't want to be distracted. I can't."

His voice was broken. John's condition gave Molly a deep wound to the heart. It would be so easy for her to relieve him from this grief. Just telling him that Sherlock was still alive. But she had sworn not to tell John anything,until Sherlock was sure that John was no longer in danger. Molly went up to John and took him in his arms. He let her for a moment, but then withdrew from her frustrated. He held his hands over his face briefly and sighed.

"Thank you, Molly. Really. I think I just need more time."

She nodded. "If you need someone to talk to, I'm here."

John looked at Molly. He'd never really noticed her before. The gray little mouse that was in love with Sherlock, and did everything to get his attention. Sherlock had always just ignored her, but she never gave up. Now that Sherlock was dead, she was dealing with it better than him. For some reason, John felt even more miserable about that. He felt like a widower. Although he had always been so eager that everybody didn't look at him and Sherlock as a couple. He shook his head at that thought.

"Thank you, Molly. Really. "

The rest of the breakfast was spent in silence. Molly felt terrible. One part of her could understand the reasons why Sherlock kept everything secret from John. But she just couldn't watch him suffering so much. She hoped Sherlock would change his mind and quickly find out if they were still in danger. Before she left, she turned to face John again.

"Think about St. Barts again. I don't think it's good for you to stay here all alone. I know you don't want to hear this, but we're worried about you. "

"We?"

Molly flinched and John looked at her, confused.

"Uh, Mike and myself."

"I didn't know that you two are close. "

"We see eachother often in the hospital. And sometimes we have lunch together."

John nodded. Molly smiled in relief. It was true she knew Mike well from the hospital and that they spoke about John, but with 'we' she had meant herself and Sherlock actually. She waved a goodbye – still a bit uncertain – and left the apartment.

John was alone again. Alone with the ghosts of the past.

_How is he? SH_

The text message popped up on her mobile, the moment she had left the apartment at 221B Baker Street. She shook her head angrily. If he was so concerned, why doesn't he go and see for himself? Of course she knew that Sherlock probably would rather do nothing more than that. But he had no choice. The whole thing with his feigned death would have been completely in vain.

_Not good. Signs of depression. I'm worried. MH_

Does he_ take his medication? SH_

_I don't think so. Isn't there any way ...? MH_

_No. Have you hidden the microphone? SH_

_Yes ... MH_

_Thank you Molly. SH_

It wasn't often that Sherlock thanked someone. She has always known how important John was to him. There had probably never been anyone in Sherlock's life who was important to him - except John. Molly wasn't a jealous person. Sherlock had broken her heart a long time ago and every time thereafter. But still, she wished him all the best and that both would realise how important they were to the other soon. She pocketed her mobile with the knowledge that Sherlock wouldn't text her for a while. Then she ran down the street towards the underground station.

Sherlock was sitting with a newspaper covering his face on one of the seats outside the restaurant "The Volunteer" and watched Molly as she walked away. He knew how dangerous it was to be in Baker Street, not far from his home. If John came out and saw him by any chance, everything was in vain. But he just couldn't hold back after he had seen the pictures on the surveillance camera yesterday, which he had placed some time ago in their flat, just in case. A small part of him wished that John would find him here. Sherlock shook off that thought angrily. He tried to suppress his emotions. He couldn't afford these thoughts and concerns about John at the moment. Moriarty's death had caused a great stir. He had to go underground and watch how everything developed. And above all he had to find out who this sniper was, who had been hired to kill his friend John. Although he was obviously called off after Sherlock jumped from the rooftop in front of John, he didn't know if the sniper wouldn't finish the job, when Sherlock attempted to get his life back.

With one last longing look at his home, he left Baker Street.


	3. Chapter 3: Caring is not an advantage

_**Chapter 3: Caring is not an advantage **_

"How dare you show your face again!" John's voice trembled with rage.

Mycroft Holmes looked at him with pursed lips.

"This is no time to express your anger, John. I have some important news for you."

"Why should I be interested in anything that comes out of your mouth? If you hadn't told this madman Sherlock's whole life story, all this would have never happend."

Mycroft looked ruefully at the ground. "A fact which I will never forgive myself for, believe me. Therefore it is so important to me that you hear me out now."

John paused and gave him the deadliest look he could manage.

"Jim Moriarty has an older brother named William. He has learned that Sherlock is responsible for the death of his brother, and he swears revenge."

John looked at the ground. "There is not much he can do. Sherlock is dead."

It was still hard for John to say that sentence out loud. The finality of it was nearly unbearable.

"William Moriarty is a strange man. Very religious - perhaps 'fanatical' would be a better word. He wants to kill everyone who was important to Sherlock. This is his revenge. Do you know what exactly happened on the roof?"

John looked with uncertainty at Mycroft and shook his head. "How do you know?"

"I have my sources."

John rolled his eyes. "Mycroft! Time to fucking come clear. You bloody owe me!"

Mycroft nodded. "Sherlock had recorded everything. We found his mobile on the roof. His suicide note, so to speak, which he left before he... "

"What's on the record?"

"The proof of Sherlock's innocence. And the reason why Sherlock has jumped. He did it for you. "

"What," John gasped softly.

"Moriarty had hired three snipers. One for Detective Inspector Lestrade, one for Mrs Hudson and one for you. You would have died if he hadn't jumped."

Everything went black before John's eyes for a moment. He leaned against the wall and buried his face in his hands.

"Why haven't you shown this piece of evidence to the police? The world still believes that he is... was a fraud."

"I didn't have enough information on whether the release of the information would lead to your death after all. And with this new knowledge of Jim Moriarty's brother I didn't want to risk it. You may think I might not, but I deeply regret what happened. And I will ensure that the sacrifice of my brother hasn't been in vain. I've hired people to watch you, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson, until I find a solution for the current problem with William Moriarty."

"You seriously don't think that I will just let you monitor me and I will do nothing?"

"John, this is not a revenge-command. William Moriarty moves in high circles. This is a very sensitive issue and I want you to stay out of it."

"Why are you telling me all this anyway if you don't want me to interfere?"

"Because you're probably the only one that would notice my secret surveillance."

John snorted in amusement. "Are you afraid that I duff one of your men up?"

Mycroft tilted his head and leaned on his umbrella.  
"However that may be. Do me a favour and stay here in the next few days and please do nothing. I'll get back to you when I know more."

John looked out the window. "I'll think about it."

At that moment Sherlock was very happy to have placed the microphone in his apartment. Not only could he hear John's voice again, but also knew what Mycroft had told John. This information was exactly what he needed to continue with his research. He was glad that he had taken all these precautions. John was still in danger. Perhaps now even more than before.

Mycroft didn't knew John as well as Sherlock. John wasn't someone who let other people protect him. When Sherlock planned to meet Moriarty on the roof of St. Barts he knew that it would be dangerous and he had to die. John would have done everything to protect him, so Sherlock had to lure him away from St. Barts with a lie.

_Alone is what I have. Alone protects me. No. Friends protect people. _

Sherlock knew that his friend and former soldier would go out to find William Moriarty. And when John found him, he would kill him. The risk for himself in this venture was completely irrelevant for John. Sherlock had to do something.

Mycroft drove home in his car. What he hadn't told John was his own reaction to the discovery of the recording. Mycroft would have never thought that Sherlock would give up his life for another person.

He recalled how the two of them stood in the hallway of the morgue of St. Barts, and he had told Sherlock that caring wasn't an advantage. He still remembered Sherlock's lecture to Miss Adler, as he explained that love is a dangerous disadvantage and a chemical defect that is found on the losing side.

In the end his brother had been a victim to those feelings, too. A circumstance that Mycroft simply couldn't understand.


	4. Chapter 4: You look sad

_**Chapter 4: You look sad**_

"You're doing it again."

"Mmmhhhh?" Sherlock made the noise absently as he looked at his laptop.

"You look sad," Molly said softly.

"I told you, you should only come here in an emergency Molly. What do you want?"

Molly sat down beside him on a dusty chair. Sherlock's shelter was a small flat in the East End of London. A former client, who Sherlock had helped greatly in the past, had left him the flat as a hideout. It was more than shabby but that didn't seem to bother Sherlock.

"I met Mike today. You know that he's known John for a long time."

"Yes, and...?"

"He is also in contact with John's sister, Harry. It looks like she's started to drink again. In a drunken state Harry told Mike that John had suffered from depression before, and as a young man he nearly killed himself. He survived just barely. She believed as well, that John had only become a soldier because he had hoped to die in Afghanistan. I'm seriously worried about him. If he doesn't take his tablets... "

Sherlock briefly looked with concern at Molly. He had thought that John was an open book for him. And usually he had been, but this was something Sherlock didn't know about his friend.

Sherlock Holmes himself had a very eventful past. Especially with the various drugs that had once almost cost him even his life. He knew what it was like to be surrounded by darkness. To be alone - understood by no one. One could despair.

The fact that he couldn't really see John made it difficult to assess his state of mind. Sherlock was worried about him whether he wanted to be or not. And he was angry about himself worrying, because he usually never worried about anything. John was his weak point. Weak point...

No, that was wrong. John was his friend. And this thought had nothing negative in it. Even if Sherlock would never admit it, since John had come into his life, so much had changed for him.

Previously Sherlock had been so alone. Even if he had convinced himself he wouldn't mind being so, it made a difference. Without anything he could do about it, memories came to his mind. Images that provoked pleasant feelings in Sherlock. Memories, such as John and Sherlock in their first case together chasing the taxi through the city and shortly after that John's laughter, because Sherlock had said "Welcome to London" to the wrong suspect. Or how they arrived at home after that - in this euphoric mood, and John realised that he no longer needed his cane. Sherlock saw John's astonished and happy facial expression in front of him as if it were yesterday and not almost two years ago. Or when John had broken the Chief Superintendent's nose, just because he had offended Sherlock.

Sherlock had so many memories - happy memories. Not only had John gifted to him that he no longer felt lonely, but he had given him so much more. So far no one had ever accepted Sherlock as he was, except John.

Some people were irritated that the detective had this habit of talking to John, even when he wasn't there. The explanation for this was so simple that Sherlock could never comprehend why no one understood this fact. For Sherlock John was never gone. He was a part of him. He was his companion, his protector, his friend. Sherlock couldn't imagine his life without John any longer. John wasn't Sherlock's weakness. He was his strength. His foundation. And finally Sherlock knew what he had to do. He smiled.

"Sherlock"

The soft voice beside him took him by surprise for a moment. Molly. Sherlock had forgotten she was there. He looked at her.

"I'll tell him. I can protect John better when we're together."

Molly smiled slightly. "But I thought... because of the snipers..."

"Yes, yes, but that's not important anymore! According to Mycroft they will try to kill him anyway. It is the only possibility. I need to get John to me. I need someone to watch my back if I want to prevent William Moriarty's plans for revenge."

"Who is William Moriarty?"

Sherlock looked at her confused for a moment, but then he realised he hadn't told Molly anything about what he'd learned earlier. In a few words he described Mycroft's visit to John to her. Molly was a little paler than usual.

"Then you were absolutely right with your precautions. The danger isn't really over. But how will you contact John unnoticed? When your brother is monitoring him, he'll see you, right?"

Sherlock nodded briefly. "That's why I need your help once more, Molly."

She nodded. "What shall I do?"

John excitedly paced up and down in his flat. If Mycroft thought he would just sit around here and twiddle his thumbs he was seriously mistaken. John looked out the window and discovered the car with the agents within a few seconds. They weren't trying very hard to do their job discreetly. But maybe because in John's case that would be unnecessary. He had to figure out how he could get rid of them when he wanted to locate William.

But first he had to somehow find the man. John sat down at his laptop and googled William Moriarty. He got a lot of hits, but all were on Jim Moriarty. His brother was not mentioned anywhere. John wished that Sherlock was there. He just didn't know where to start looking for the older Moriarty.

The sun was setting, and instead of new knowledge John had a headache from sitting for too long in front of his laptop. Grateful for the distraction, John put the laptop aside when Mrs Hudson entered the room.

"Mrs Hooper is below. She wants to talk to you, John."

"Molly, again?" John was surprised and went down to the front door.

Molly was standing there with a red umbrella.

"Hi. Come on in." John said kindly.

Molly shook her head.

"I wanted to ask you to come with me, John. I have to tell you something important. But not here.", she whispered. John was surprised at the secrecy.

"Okay, I'll just get my coat."

Soon after, they were walking through the rain towards the subway. John couldn't help smiling inwardly that the agents now had to get out of their safe car into the rain to follow them.

"Where are we going?"

"St. Barts. "

"Why?"

"I'll tell you later. When we get there. And when we don't have followers anymore."

John looked surprised at Molly.

"How...?"

Molly only grinned at him, linked her arm with him and pulled him into the subway.


	5. Chapter 5: Some things are meant to be

_**Chapter 5: Some things are meant to be**_

St. Barts was busy with staff moving around, but as they got closer to the morgue, it became quiet.

"A second attempt to convince me to work here?" John grinned cheekily at Molly.

His mood was a little bit better, now that he was out of the flat. The feeling of being on the move was good for him. Molly laughed quickly.

"I think it would be really nice if you would work here. But there's something else."

"You can tell me now. The agents didn't follow us in the hospital."

She didn't answer, just pulled him down the hallway in silence.

He followed Molly into her little lab. When he entered the room the world suddenly turned upside down. Shocked, John stared at none other than Sherlock Holmes, who stood in the middle of the room and looked at him. John's mind was racing and he felt nauseated. Too many feelings were rushing through him at once.

"John," Sherlock whispered, and walked up to his frozen friend, who didn't dare to breathe, afraid that he would wake up from this dream. John still couldn't respond. He just stared at Sherlock stunned. Sherlock sighed briefly and then pulled John tightly into a hug.

"Sherlock..."

John's voice was low and broken. Sherlock pulled away a little so he could look at his friend, but didn't let him go. John couldn't turn away from his intense blue eyes.

"Yes, I'm sorry, John. I had to do that. I had no choice. "

"But how? I saw when you..."

John wasn't able to bring the sentence to an end. Sherlock was alive! He didn't imagine it, did he? He felt the warm grip of his hands on his arms. John flinched panting and slid down on the floor of the laboratory. Sherlock knelt beside him.

"Are you okay?"

"Am I ..." John looked at him aghast. And then anger joined the chaos of his feelings.

"Am I okay? I thought you were DEAD! You were DEAD IN YOUR BLOOD ON THE PAVEMENT. I had to watch HOW YOU BLOODY JUMPED! FUCK YOU!"

He turned his head away and added quietly, "Of course I'm not okay."

Sherlock put his hand on his shoulder, so that John had to look at him again.

"It was the only way to save you. Mycroft explained to you what happened."

John nodded. He felt inwardly deserted. The anger had subsided and in its place a stunned feeling of calmness spread through him. That was just too much. He had wished that Sherlock was still alive. That it all was a trick. He had stood at the gravestone and pleaded Sherlock not to be dead. And now his wish had become reality.

"I ... I'm so glad you're alive," he whispered softly.

John stretched his back and tried to sit up straight. One way to remind himself that he was a soldier. And very effective to save him from the tears of relief that threatened to pave their way to the top. Molly cleared her throat and left the room with a muttered "I'll be back later."

For a while there was silence between Sherlock and John, then John began to speak slowly.

"Why did you tell me on the phone that you invented Moriarty? Did you really think, I'd buy this nonsense?"

Sherlock smiled briefly. "Of course not. I've tried to tell you that everything is just a trick. I didn't know if my phone was bugged, so officially I had to play by Moriarty's rules. But I was one step ahead of him."

"Why didn't you tell me? You told Molly."

Sherlock nodded. "Moriarty thought, Molly doesn't count for me, so she wasn't important for his game. That was his mistake."

With a slight twinge of guilt Sherlock remembered in this context that he previously had thought the same. But when Molly spoke to him about his sad face and told him that she wouldn't count for him, only then Sherlock got the right idea to develop a strategy against Moriarty. Friends were an uncontrollable variable, Moriarty had no idea of. Something for which Sherlock was very grateful.

"With you it's different. I knew he would try to threaten you again. I wanted you to be safe and not put you into the position to risk your life for me. Unfortunately, Moriarty had already taken precautions. But I was prepared for this case."

Sherlock now sat down next to John on the floor.

"The cyclist got you hard, right?"

John looked at Sherlock in surprise.

"I had it arranged - the passers-by, the other doctors and the cyclist. All of them were from my Homeless Network. They all played their role in this magic trick. The cyclist was the distraction, so that you first wouldn't reach me so quickly and secondly you wouldn't notice the last part of the fall. Infront the hospital there was a lorry parking. On the wall-facing side its hatch was open. So you couldn't see from your perspective what happened behind. Two of my extras had spread a mat behind it on the pavement, and caught my fall thereby. When I was safely down, they had the mat pulled back into the truck and hidden. "

"But all of the blood?"

"It was from the lab here. I don't know if you remember, but one of the doctors has pulled you away from me, when you tried to feel my pulse. That was a close call, which nearly blew everything open. It was important that my death was convincing. The snipers would otherwise have shot you, Mrs Hudson and DI Lestrade immediately."

John sighed loudly and shook his head slowly. He ran his hand over his face and stayed like that for a while.

"I do not know what to say. This is all still so surreal."

He looked at his friend, trying to memorise every detail of Sherlock like he could use it to wipe out the last nightmare. Then he cleared his throat and just looked at his hands.

"When we started to work together, you said to me that it could be dangerous. I followed you anyway. We'll always be getting into dangerous situations. I am a soldier, Sherlock. You don't need to protect me. That's my job. I understand the situation and the motives of your actions, but please never do that to me again."

Sherlock stood up and held out his hand to John.

"It wasn't easy for me, John." John looked at Sherlock, took his hand and let himself be pulled up.

"I need you by my side. You have to keep my back when we go for William Moriarty. We also need to find the whereabouts of these snipers."

John nodded. "Of course. Do you have a plan?"

Sherlock smirked. "Of course I have, but the most important thing first. No one must know that I am still alive. You will be monitored by Mycroft's people, that means we have to be careful. The hospital is a good place to meet. The best is, you'll start to work here, then we can see each other more often. I have a new phone number where you can reach me. We should, however, stick to using SMS. Who knows who overhears in Baker Street."

John smiled broadly, and Sherlock was infected with it. The world was right again: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were together again.


	6. Chapter 6: Can you pass me a pen?

**Chapter 6: Can you pass me a pen?**

John was sent back home by Sherlock, so that he could sleep for now. Tomorrow would be another day, and he needed him fresh and rested for his plan. John had accepted that without question which only confirmed to him that his friend was completely exhausted.

As Molly accompanied John to St. Paul's tube station, she looked at him inquisitively. She had expected that he would look happy, now that he knew that Sherlock was alive. She felt like giving a sigh of relief, as Sherlock had decided to tell John the truth yesterday evening. But now, when she looked at John, she saw nothing of happiness or relief in his face. His eyes were blank, his expression serious. Molly grabbed his arm to get his attention. It seemed as if she startled John from a trance. He gazed for a moment a little disoriented at her, and then smiled.

"Sorry, did you say something?"

Molly shook her head and smiled at him encouragingly. "Are you okay?"

"Yes ... Yes, I'm just a little bit tired. That was a crazy, strange day."

He put his hand on hers and squeezed it briefly. Molly was relieved. Probably it really was just that, She could understand if John were all at sea after what had happened to him. At the underground station, the two said goodbye, because they had to go in different directions. Molly hugged John awkwardly and gave him a lopsided grin.

"Get home safely." He smiled briefly. "I'll see you probably tomorrow, right?"

"Yes?"

"I try to get the vacant position."

"Oh, that's great! Then eat lunch with us tomorrow. Well, with Mike and me. Mike would be pleased. So am I, of course. Erm we, we would be pleased."

John grinned at Molly's typically awkward way to express something if she was excited.

"Okay, see you tomorrow."

She waved at him, as he turned and walked to his platform.

John didn't bother to turn on the light when he got back home. He staggered sleepily into the bathroom, washed his face with cold water and brushed his teeth. Then he stumbled - more than walked - into his bedroom and pulled himself out of his clothes. John sat on the edge of his bed and put his head in his hands.

Sherlock lives.

He laughed curtly. His heart was hurting in his chest, and John didn't know what was wrong with him. He had wished for nothing more, that Sherlock was still alive, and now that he was indeed so, he couldn't believe it. It was so surreal. Was that really happening? Had he really met Sherlock again?

It was so quiet in his room, the silence was almost unbearably loud. The pain in John's heart got stronger and made him gasp. He wrapped his arms around himself and pulled his knees to his body. The strange feeling in him was unbearable. John slammed his fist against his bedside, and something fell down with a light metallic sound. Something that lay at his feet and glittered in the light of the street lamp that shone through his window. John put his feet on the ground and picked up the chain with his two round dog tags. The sight of it had broken the spell. John looked at the engraving on the cool piece of metal over which he moved his hand back and forth.

O POS

24954045

WATSON

JH

CE

He felt how he was getting calmer. The fatigue was finally all over him, and John decided to lie down and sleep. It had been a long day. He pulled the chain over his head and enjoyed the feel of the cool metal on his skin that brought him back to reality.

He folded his arms behind his head, and suddenly his mobile phone display flashed lightly on the bedside table. Wearily he reached for it.

_Good night, John. SH_

John chuckled. He couldn't help it. He pressed his mobile tightly to his chest – the warm feeling that was triggered by this message still lingered with him as he slowly drifted off to sleep.

John got the job. The hospital had been searching desperately, and with John's excellent qualifications it was only a matter of formality. He even could start the next day. John was very happy about that, because that meant that he could see Sherlock again soon and every day without problems. But he also was hoping that they could solve this problem with William Moriarty shortly and Sherlock could have his life back. With him in Baker Street.

John was taken around by one of St. Bart's nurses who showed him everything. At noon he met with Mike and Molly, who congratulated him happily to his new job and welcomed him as a new colleague. John had the feeling he was back in his life again. Everything felt light and good. The cool metal of his dog tags, which he wore under his shirt, reminded him of who he was and what his job was.

After lunch with his friends, he followed Molly to her lab, where Sherlock stayed most of the day to do God-knows-what. Molly brought Sherlock a sandwich, which he ignored entirely with an undisturbed interested in looking into a microscope.

"I said can you pass me my pen," said Sherlock, as John stood beside him.

"Two hours ago?" asked John.

"No, twenty minutes ago."

John grinned. Sherlock was doing it again already. Talk to him, even if he wasn't there. He had given up long ago explaining to Sherlock that he couldn't hear him when he wasn't with him in a room.

He looked around. "Where is your pen?"

"In my jacket pocket."

John rolled his eyes. Where else? He reached carefully into Sherlock's coat pocket and was very close to his friend.

"I got the job here by the way," John said as he rummaged through Sherlock's inner pocket.

What had he got inside his pocket? Something that felt like a photograph, one pack probably his nicotine patches, but he felt no pen. Sherlock looked up from his microscope and looked at him.

"Of course. I never had any doubt."

His voice was soft. John was a bit confused by the proximity to Sherlock and his intense look.

"Your pen isn't there ..." he said and slowly pulled his hand out of his pocket. Sherlock blinked and reached into his inside pocket for himself. He raised an eyebrow in surprise and then reached into his left coat pocket, only to find his pen there. John pursed his lips and looked at him with amusement when Sherlock gave him a warning look.

"You wanted to tell me your plan," John reminded him when he went back a few steps from Sherlock, leaning against the bench.

Sherlock scribbled something on a piece of paper and then turned back to his friend.

"What would you have done if suddenly there were rumors of someone secretly started to solving crimes in a utmost brilliant way?"

"You mean, when I still thought you were dead?

Sherlock nodded.

"I would have assumed that it's you and I would have been looking for you."

Sherlock grinned approvingly. "Exactly. And that's my plan to lure William. I sprinkle rumors in the underworld, that an ingenious criminal consultant is on the loose. I leave Jim Moriarty's handwriting everywhere. William will start looking for me. "

"Why are you going to pretend to be Moriarty? He would personally look after you, if he would know you were alive."

Sherlock shook his head. "Too dangerous. Should come out that I'm alive, he would most probably call the snipers again into the plan. If I pretend to be Moriarty, it is something personal. I think Jim Moriarty's suicide is something his most Christian brother can hardly cope with. He will do everything possible to find me, and then the trap will spring."

"And how will you find out who the snipers are?"

"By William obviously."

John looked at Sherlock contrite. "Obviously ... yes ..."

Sherlock sighed. "I'll explain everything later in more detail. But first you need to do something for me."

Sherlock gave John the note on the lab bench. "Go to this address and pick something up for me."

"What should I pick up?"

"A package. They will know about it."

John grimaced and grumbled something like: "It's all over Mr. Mysterious again."

The detective looked back into the microscope and didn't answer. John nodded Molly a goodbye, who had tried to concentrate on her work but could hardly restrain herself fromwatching them both. Molly couldn't resist a grin when John left the lab.


	7. Chapter 7: Nothing happens to me

**Chapter 7: Nothing happens to me**

John walked to the underground station and studied the list.

Athenian Grocery

16 Moscow Road (Bayswater)

The 4PP package

"What the hell is a 4PP package?" John thought angrily and was immediately afterwards annoyed by the fact that he had to go to Bayswater, an area of London which was, due to its central location, very popular with tourists and therefore usually very crowded.

He had to travel about ten stations on the Tube, and if he was lucky when changing lines at Notting Hill Gate, he only would need about fifteen minutes for the trip. John was lucky. He came through well, and even the streets of Bayswater weren't as full as he had anticipated today. That was probably due to the bad weather. There was a nasty cold wind outside and it was drizzling.

With sadness John thought about how happy he would be if he was at home now with a hot cup of tea and sitting doing something simple like listening to Sherlock playing the violin. John never had told Sherlock, but he loved it when his friend played the violin. Those were always the peaceful moments in Baker Street ... John sat in his favourite chair and reading a newspaper, and Sherlock stood at the window and played the violin. The world was fine.

At the underground station was a map of the area, and John discovered Moscow Road immediately. It wasn't very far away from the station.

"At least that's something," thought John grimly and pulled up the collar of his dark jacket to protect him from the cold wind. He ran down the road and found Moscow Road after a few minutes, on the left side of Queensway. On the corner was a Pizza Hut, and John's stomach growled at the sight of the logo. Actually, he wasn't a big fast food fan, but lunch was already a few hours ago, and unlike Sherlock he needed food to live. John tried to pull himself together and was heading down the street a little faster now. At the next corner he found the Athenian Grocery. It was a small store that was designed entirely in the Greek style. With a blue and white striped awning and fruit boxes, protected from the rain stacked underneath.

"Kalimera! What can I do for you?"

"Hi, I hope I'm right here. I want to pick up a package." John showed the Greek man the note.

"Ah, the four patch problem package! A moment, I will get it."

John rolled his eyes. 4PP stood for four patch problem! He hoped that there weren't only just nicotine patches in the package. The man shouted to his colleague something in Greek, and she laughed. Then she disappeared through a door to a back room and came back a little later with a package that was wrapped in bright paper. The young woman was very pretty and smiled openly at John. He put on the most charming smile he could manage in his mood as he took the package from her counter.

"Sherlock has a really good taste in terms of men, doesn't he, Dad?" smiled the young woman. The Greek laughed merrily, while he was weighing a few apples.

"Um, I'm not..." But the young woman was already gone to the back room before he could explain the situation. Why was it all people always assumed that he and Sherlock were a couple? The Greek man pressed a bag of various fruits in John's hand.

"Bring them to Sherlock. He eats so little." John thanked him and asked how he knew Sherlock.

"Oh, Sherlock is an old friend of the family. He really helped my wife and me when the Mafia had kidnapped my daughter."

"Oh my goodness."

The Greek nodded. "Yes, it was a bad time for us. My daughter Elena a lot younger at the time. The police had no evidence and could not do anything. Sherlock found her within half an hour. We were lucky nothing had happened to her. We are forever in his debt."

John was aware that the Greek didn't speak in past tense of Sherlock. He probably didn't read the newspapers to know what had happened in the past week. John was kind of happy about that. He said goodbye to the friendly seller and hurried back towards the underground.

John put the green bag and the package on the bench when he arrived at St. Barts' lab. Molly was already gone, and Sherlock sat on the floor and let a rubber ball bounce at the opposing cabinet and caught it again, without looking up to John. John knelt beside him and grabbed the ball away from Sherlock to get his attention.

"You have the package." It was more a statement than a question.

"Yes. Here. Eat something first."

John held out an apple, which Sherlock took without question.

"What's in the package? I hope no nicotine patches."

Sherlock grinned briefly. "Open it."

John picked up the package and sat down next to Sherlock on the ground again. He opened the paper and finally the package. Sherlock watched John intensely. John's hair was ruffled through the rain and the wind. He hadn't cut it lately and therefore was a bit longer than usual. Sherlock wondered why John hadn't cut his hair. He usually put a lot of emphasis on it.

"What the... my goodness!" John panted, when he saw the contents of the box.

Sherlock grinned. "My emergency kit for situations like this."

Sherlock reached into the box and pulled out a pack of nicotine patches, which was sandwiched between an estimated one million pounds in cash.

"Where did you get so much money from?" John looked at Sherlock with big eyes. His friend cocked his head and gave John a serious stare.

"Irrelevant. The money is my ticket, to make the right contacts in the underworld and to spread rumors. Tonight I meet a contact man."

"I come with you."

"No."

"What? What is it Sherlock? You said you need someone to watch your back. You can bet on it that I'll come!"

"No, John. Not this time. Right now, it is important that you are going home and that Mycroft's men will see you. I can't risk that my brother is suspicious because you are no longer at home. He'll think you're going after William, and we currently can't use him on our trail."

"But…"

Sherlock shook his head. "I know what I said, but don't worry. I'll be fine. The meeting tonight will be a breeze."

John wasn't convinced. Sherlock could read it like an open book on his face.

"The contact man owes me…"

"How many people in this town don't, really," John muttered, but Sherlock continued undeterred.

"A couple of people from the homeless network will help me to improve my reputation in the underworld by spreading rumours that Moriarty is back again. But this alone will not suffice. I need a big coup to draw attention to myself. And my contact knows exactly the right people with whom I can do that."

"You're not really going to commit a crime?" John grinned uncertainly.

Sherlock looked at him seriously. "I know that this is against your moral values, but in order to be Moriarty, I have to behave as he did."

"I don't like this."

"Trust me, John. My plan will work. We'll meet here tomorrow night again."

"If something happens to you, I'll kill you," John grumbled, as he stood. Before he went to the door, he turned around again. "Sherlock?"

The detective looked up at John. The ex-soldier gave him the apple that Sherlock had placed carelessly on the table. "Eat something!"

Sherlock grinned at John as his friend left the lab.

When John was finally home, he took off his clothes and went to bed without eating. His appetite had disappeared some time ago anyway. He had felt empty and drained on his journey home.

When he had finally made it to bed, he couldn't fall asleep despite fatigue. Concerns about Sherlock kept him awake. He wondered with a pang in his chest if Sherlock really needed him, or whether he had been shaken off again.

John stared at the ceiling. He felt useless. Why had Sherlock wanted to protect him again? Was he only a millstone around his friend's neck? It probably would have been better for Sherlock if he had never met him.

Sherlock got along perfectly before him. John's thoughts turned increasingly to these questions, and he felt the pain in his heart getting stronger and at the same time a strange emptiness spread through him. His eyes fell on two boxes and a note on the bedside table. He was sure he hadn't placed them there. John picked up the paper and read it. It was a fact sheet about depression. The note had all the symptoms listed to recognise a depressive phase.

Fatigue, sleep disturbances, impaired appetite, pain, brooding, negative thought patterns, weariness of life, sense of emptiness / numbness, sadness, mood swings, worthlessness, self-doubt…

John dropped the paper to the floor. Then he picked up the two boxes. John wasn't a psychologist, but he still knew the effect of the drugs in his hand. "Mirtazepine" and "Lorazepam". One was an antidpressant, and the other one a sleeping tablet, which one could take only for a short time in order to avoid the risk of addiction.

John sighed. He realised that he was in a depressive phase. It wasn't the first time that he had gone through that. But it was so incredibly hard to get up and to take the drugs. It was as if his body was chained to his bed. Another symptom he knew well. Fighting was so incredibly hard - to give up seemed so much easier.

John put the tablets back on the nightstand. He was too heavy to stand again and to get a glass. John wanted to give up – just staying in bed. At that moment there was a knock at the door. At first John couldn't answer.

He heard the knock again.

"John? Are you still awake? "

Mrs Hudson.

"Yes," his voice was rough. Mrs Hudson entered his room carefully, something that she usually never did.

"I've brought you a glass of water." She put the glass on the nightstand.

"Thank you. Did you place the pills here?"

She nodded. "Molly asked me. She's a good girl."

John nodded. "Thank you, Mrs Hudson." Now that his landlady was there, it was easier to sit up and take the two tablets. Mrs Hudson gave him a motherly smile, stroked once over his hand and wished him a good night. John wondered how Molly knew that he had been prescribed medication. But he couldn't longer think about it. The tablets started to work very quickly. John felt lighter and the fatigue that overcame him now, carried him into a dreamless sleep.

Pete Taylor was a strange guy. Full of strange ideas that had mostly only brought him trouble in his life so far. Only once he had been lucky. Well, lucky...

He met Sherlock when the detective had proved to the police that he wasn't guilty for blowing the soft drinks factory up. Pete had been trying to improve the mix of lemonade, without the business owner knowing anything about it. Secretly at night. They never wanted to listen to Pete. Always told him he was just a simple factory worker, who should stop bursting constantly into the meetings with crazy ideas. He could have helped improve the lemonade so much, but they just didn't want his help. So he had done it secretly, and the factory exploded. But it wasn't his fault. A gas leak had caused the explosion. Pete had just randomly been there too, and it was a miracle nothing had happened to him. Pete had lost his job anyway, even if he wasn't to blame for this accident, but he was still very grateful to Sherlock.

He didn't know though why the detective wanted to have a name in the world of criminals all of a sudden and instructed him to call him Moriarty. But it basically didn't matter for Pete, after all he got a little bit of money out of it.

Pete was stubbing out his cigarette on the garage wall which he was leaning against when he saw Sherlock. He admired the great detective. With his coat collar turned up, his high cheekbones and piercing blue eyes he really was a impressive man to look at.

"Good evening, Pete."

"Hi!"

"All set?"

Pete nodded. "They are waiting for you inside."

Sherlock followed Pete into the old warehouse. A few very expensive cars were parked in there. A tall young man with blond hair stood in front of a midnight blue Jaguar eyed Sherlock smirking. He was accompanied by a few men in dark leather clothes who were standing at some distance from their boss.

"Good evening," greeted Sherlock. "You must be Matt Smith."

"I am. And I heard, you have something of interest."

"You get right to the point. Good. "

Matt leaned against his Jaguar. "Time is money, Mr. Moriarty. But it is interesting that I've heard that you passed away not long ago. "

"A fairytale staging, to get rid of my enemy. One should never stand on the wrong side of me."

One of Smith's men cleared his throat, but Matt raised his hand.

"You shouldn't threaten me. My men are allergic to it."

"I have no time for such a skirmish. You said yourself 'time is money'. Let's come finally to business. You have a problem, to establish a new market for drugs in the United Kingdom. You want to smuggle your new designer drugs in these fancy cars from the Netherlands across the border. However, these drugs contain an ingredient the drug dogs at the border control can smell miles away."

Matt's face fell during the Sherlock's lecture into a more serious expression.

"And how do you know all this?" Smith's men came dangerously close.

"To know something is my job as a consultant for crime. I'm here to help."

"I have a better idea," said Matt, grinning cynically. He made a sign, and his men surrounded the detective.

"I would have been better bringing John," Sherlock thought grimly. Then he was struck down.


	8. Chapter 8: Are you alright?

**Chapter 8: Are you alright?**

The next morning John was more rested and relaxed than he had been for a long time. The tablets made sure he slept really was looking forward to his day's work at St. Barts, when the alarm clock rang early. There was just this little nagging feeling in him that he'd had since he had woken up. He was worried about Sherlock, hoping that everything went well last night. John quickly had breakfast and then he was off to work.

He had a good feeling of hope, and that his depression would fade away quickly as soon as his life was stable again. Unfortunately he had lots of experience with depressive episodes in the past, so John was aware that he was still far from stable and that his present good feeling had been triggered by the drugs, but it was a good start, and a great help in order to fight back from this and phase it out.

John's first day was less stressful than he had expected. He made his rounds with a nice fellow named Sebastian Moran, whom he had been introduced to yesterday. John supported him today, especially on the children's ward. He knew from experience that children were very brave and usually better patients.

The day before, little Eric had had his tonsils removed and today he sipped ice with obvious pleasure. After the surgery he understandably didn't feel very well, but now he seemed to be fine. He sat upright in his bed, in one hand a book in the other a red strawberry ice.

"Hi," greeted John. "I'm the new doctor here. My name is John Watson."

Eric wanted to shake hands with him, but couldn't put his ice down, so he left it with a shrug and grinned.

"Hi, I'm Eric."

"How are you today?"

"Good. Does still hurt a bit when I swallow, though."

John nodded. "It will be much better tomorrow. Just eat more ice cream. Can I look at your throat again?"

Eric nodded and with regret he put his ice into a bowl on the table along with his book.

"What are you reading?"

"The Hobbit."

"Really? I liked that very much as a child."

Eric opened his mouth wide, and John examined his throat with his pocket lamp. The wound looked good, and John was happy.

"Most of all I like Bilbo and the dragon," Eric said when he could close his mouth again.

"Oh, they're my favorite, too. Everything looks fine, Eric, but you should definitely eat more ice today."

"You don't have to tell me twice."

Eric grinned with his mouth full of ice again. "Getting tonsils out is cool."

John laughed and waved goodbye. "Let me know, if you need anything."

Eric just nodded, because he was absorbed in his book again.

He met Mike and Molly for lunch. It had become a ritual now that he'd started to work here, but John had little objection against that. Once in a while it was nice just to hang out with friends and talk about ordinary things that have nothing to do with murder and manslaughter.

John noticed that Molly was more nervous than usual. An inner tension spread through him. She knew something that he didn't know, for that he was sure. He hadn't heard from Sherlock so far and was worried, although he tried not to show it. Yesterday Sherlock finally had assured him that he wouldn't do anything dangerous. But it was Sherlock – and he didn't exactly have a careful nature. Of course John couldn't ask Molly about Sherlock in front of Mike, so he tried to be patient until after lunch when Mike finally had to get back to work.

"Molly, how is Sherlock?"

Molly looked at him, surprised and nervous. "How...?"

So something had happened to Sherlock. John turned pale for a moment.

"What happened?"

"Nothing serious. He's just, well, he'd better tell you himself."

"Is he here?"

She nodded, and John left Molly and ran as fast as he could towards the lab.

~~~

A busted lip, a few bruises and a red scratch on his face were Sherlock's yield from last night. He had been lucky that Pete had intervened so fast, and clarified the situation by telling how excellently "Moriarty" could draw conclusions, and that he'd put his shirt on that man that this wasn't an undercover Agent from Scotland Yard. He had convinced Matt Smith and persuaded him to listen to Sherlock's proposal.

Finally he had a foot in the door and an excellent foundation for drawing out William. Sherlock was happy with the result. Now he just had to convince John of his plan. Just when he thought about John, the man himself dashed through the laboratory door.

"Sherlock!"

He looked angry and worried at the same time. Only John could make such a contradictory face. With a few steps, his friend was with him, gently touched Sherlock's face, looking at the injuries.

Sherlock let John go through with the medical examination and muttered: "It's nothing serious. It was just a little misunderstanding. Last night, everything went perfectly."

"So perfect that somebody has beaten you up? "John grumbled and released Sherlock's face.

"Like I said, just a misunderstanding. That won't happen again."

"You're right. It won't happen again. Do you know why?"

Previously Sherlock had always had trouble not answering rhetorical questions, because he just had to say something about everything. But he had learned to be silent when John was so angry like he was now.

"I won't let you go out on these things alone anymore. Don't think you can send me home again."

"Of course not. I've laid the foundation to gain a foothold in one of the newest and most aspiring crime syndicates. I'll need someone to cover my back."

"What's your plan?"

Sherlock watched John very intensely.

"I'm the new criminal consultant for this man called Matt Smith and I help him so that he can smuggle drugs into our country. I know that you don't like the idea, but once we've achieved our goal, I'll leave Lestrade some good evidence. I know from a well-informed source that William benefits very well from these drug trades and that Mr. Smith will contact him for me."

John looked morose, but Sherlock knew that his friend was aware that at this point, they had no choice but to take drastic action.

"I thought William was religious. What does he have to do with the drug trade?"

"Probably the apple never falls far from the tree. I guess it's a family thing, to bend their criminal business into shape."

John nodded, and Sherlock felt the doctor was getting calmer. That was something about John that Sherlock had noticed very early in his friend. Normal people would get nervous and frighten when they face impending danger. With John, it was just the opposite. Sherlock knew that John was with him one hundred percent and he could rely on him with his life.


	9. Chapter 9: I'm not on the side of the an

**Chapter 9: I'm not on the side of the angels**

It was already getting dark, and the street lamps illuminated the road in a diffuse light. Sherlock had snuck out with John to the rear exit, and now the two of them were on their way to Sherlock's apartment.

"Are you sure that we've lost Mycroft's men?"

Sherlock looked at John briefly and nodded.

"Obviously."

"Obviously, Sherlock?"

John hated it when Sherlock looked at him with his 'It-is-so-obvious-that-even-you-could-see-it' look. Sherlock sighed briefly, but actually he loved to impress John with his powers of observation.

"Mycroft has sent two agents to watch you. Neither of them seem to take this task very seriously. Now that you have a regular job and left home yesterday at a certain time, they expect that you'll head back at the same time through the front door. Fifteen minutes ago the agents went to buy sandwiches and coffee and will be busy for at least half an hour with their food, from my last observation. Neither of them has researched how long your working hours are. Otherwise they'd know that your work is done by now and they would probably also guard the back door. But they don't. They're taking a break and they'll not notice for an hour that something is wrong. Therefore we shouldn't strike roots."

John simply looked at Sherlock for a solid second. Then he grinned.

"Let's go, show-off!"

~ ~

"So that's where you live?" John looked sullenly into Sherlock's apartment.

"No, I live in Baker Street. That's just temporary." Even if Sherlock certainly didn't mean his remark to be sentimental, John was very happy about it.

"Can you play my bodyguard tonight? It's important that I strengthen my position with Mr. Smith, today."

"Sure, but I don't have my gun and..." John looked down at himself. He wore his black and white striped shirt and blue jeans. "...I don't look particularly dangerous for a bodyguard."

Sherlock grinned at him. "I've got you a few things."

Sherlock went into his bedroom and John followed him. The detective took a few things out of a bag. Black trousers, a black sweatshirt and a well balanced SIG Sauer P226 John noted, pleased after a short inspection of the ammunition. John took the gun in his hand and smiled slightly. Since his time in the military this weapon had become his constant companion and a natural extension of his arm. Although he was a doctor, John actually was an excellent marksman and expert in handling this weapon, widely used by the British Army.

"Do I want to know where...?" he began to ask Sherlock.

"No."

"Okay."

John put the gun down on the bed and took off his favorite sweatshirt with a swift movement. Sherlock handed him the new one and was surprised that John wore his dog tags under his shirt. Something pulled painfully in his heart. He took a step towards his friend and took the silver chain in his hand. John looked silently at Sherlock. He knew that the detective could read him like an open book and that it was impossible for John to hide something from him.

Sherlock looked at John's bright scar on his shoulder and then in the gray-blue eyes of his friend.

"When I said bodyguard, I don't mean..."

John didn't often see Sherlock struggle for words. The detective cleared his throat.

"I don't want you to get hurt."

John was silent for a moment and looked at Sherlock, motionless. "Sentimental, Sherlock?" John cocked his head and pulled an eyebrow skeptically.

Sherlock said nothing and continued to look at him with his turquoise-blue eyes which John had been fascinated with since they met.

"Don't worry. I kick everyone's ass, if they get funny with us."

John turned away from Sherlock and pulled on the black sweatshirt. Sherlock still looked at John briefly and then left the room to wait for John so he could finish changing his clothes.

No matter what John said, he was worried. That John was wearing his dog tag wasn't a good sign. It was as if John expected to die in combat. Sherlock shook off the thought. John was a good soldier and marksman. He could very well take care of himself. But the nagging question of whether John wanted to take care of himself, remained uncomfortably stuck in his mind.

~ ~

Pete greeted Sherlock cheerfully and John looked at him in surprise, but tried to be friendly. Sherlock introduced the two of them briefly and then went over to the rest of the waiting people, whom he had ordered to come to the docks. Somehow the dark-clad figures looked familiar to John. It took him a while, but finally it dawned on him why. Those were all people from Sherlock's "Homeless Network," on which he could always rely on for a case back then. John followed him slowly and heard as they reported their doing to Sherlock. They had spread rumours everywhere in the underworld that Moriarty was back as a consulting criminal. Sherlock was pleased with the reports and sent the people home after paying them generous.

"Okay, now to Mr. Smith." John nodded seriously.

He was tense, all his senses were sharpened. John wondered how the heart of London could remind him so much of the war in Afghanistan. But it was like Mycroft once said - with Sherlock you always see the battlefield. He followed Sherlock along a road by the Thames up to a large warehouse. Pete had accompanied them, but told them he would wait outside, because he had to make an important business call. Even without Sherlock's talent to draw conclusions John was certain that Pete just wanted to throw his weight around. He didn't know why, but he decided not to worry about those little things and focus on the task before him. Now he had to concentrate on portraying the most scary bodyguard possible, so that no one came up with the idea to do something stupid.

"Moriarty, welcome!" Matt greeted Sherlock effusively with outstretched arms. John couldn't stand the blonde, smooth guy already. He also internally reminded himself again that he had to remember to call Sherlock by the name Moriarty.

"Mr. Smith. How's business?"

Matt approached them and looked with irritation at John, who was standing in his practiced straight military posture and ignored him, while he tactically analyzed the warehouse. Two men at the back of the hall about three metres away. Probably armed with handguns. A man behind Mr. Smith, semiautomatic. Three men in an adjoining room, which could be seen through a glass window. Armament unknown. Coverage options, right and left about three feet distant, containers, and a dark blue Porsche parked behind Mr. Smith.

"Who is that?" Matt asked with his head pointing to John.

Sherlock glanced at John. "This is my - shall we say, mate - his name, never mind."

Matt scratched his chin and eyed John skeptically. "And he can't talk?"

"He can shoot very well," remarked Sherlock while John still skillfully ignored Mr. Smith.

Matt obviously thought about saying something for a moment, but decided to let it go.

"Whatever. We have put your plans into action this morning and they have proved very useful. You've kept your end of the bargain and I have kept mine. William has received your message."

Sherlock smiled. "Then I expect to hear from him soon."

Sherlock turned with a flowing coat and made to leave the hall. "Until we meet again, Mr. Smith", he said smiling and without turning around.

"I'm looking forward to it," said Matt.

"I doubt it," Sherlock muttered, as soon as they were out of his earshot.

John had so many questions, but he was patient until they returned "home".

~ ~

The message was brief, but it burned deep into his heart.

_I'm still here, brother. Write me. notonthesideofthe .uk_

That was so typical of his brother. He had always made fun of his faith. Nevertheless, he was his brother. When he'd heard of his suicide, he had been shaken. Although he knew that Jim had self-destructive impulses in himself. Unlike him - William – Jim never could bundle his intelligence to something constructive.

_Because my power is not based on the large number, my rule does not need strong men, but I am the God of the weak._

William smiled. He had never played the power play like his brother. Let the puppets dance, in order to gain influence. He himself was the power, simply by its superiority. Something he had to teach his brother.

And then there was this annoying issue that Jim had started something that he hadn't finished yet. William couldn't stand it when Jim ordered a sniper to kill someone and then wasn't going through with it. At some point you'll lose the respect of their subjects over that.

Someone cleared his throat behind him, and William turned with a raised eyebrow. "Sebastian, haven't seen you in a while."

Sebastian nodded his greeting. "Is it true, what is said?"

"It appears so. He left me a message to contact him."

"Why hasn't he contacted me? Why the secrecy?"

William pursed his lips. He liked Sebastian. Even if the relationship that he and his brother used to have wasn't something he would approve of.

"My brother has always had a sense of theatricality."

"That's not like him. He would have contacted me by now."

"Whatever his reasons might be, Sebastian, he'll explain it to us soon. I'll meet with him."

With these words, he pointed to a large table in the room for Sebastian to sit down at, which was laid with the most diverse foods. But William had only a piece of bread and water for himself.


	10. Chapter 10: Prepared to burn

**Chapter 10: Prepared to burn**

_I have a present for you, brother. John Watson. I will bring him to the meeting. Tomorrow. 51.572485,0.875901. 10 pm._

William smiled. What a very attentive gift. Even though he now knew that his brother was still alive, William hadn't given up his plans to kill John Watson himself. Not only because of revenge, that Sherlock Holmes made him suffer through the belief that his brother killed himself, but also to close that tiresome chapter of the consulting detective who nearly ruined his family.

"I will practice his revenge on those trying since to destroy my brothers, and punish them with wrath, that they should know that I am the LORD, when I practice revenge on them," he murmured, grinning, as he read the message from his brother again.

William took his phone and tapped the GPS coordinates his brother had sent him into it. Essex. Seafront. Dramatic as ever. William shook his head. He pressed the answer button on the mail and began to write.

_Behold, I will stretch out my hand against the Philistines, and cut off the Cherethites and destroy the remnant on the sea shore, and I will execute great vengeance on them and punish them with wrath, that they should know, I am the LORD, when I shall lay my vengeance on them. _

William pressed "send" and sat back, satisfied. Jim couldn't have picked a better place. A quiet place for an enjoyable, uninterrupted revenge.

~ ~

"He will come." Sherlock slowly turned to John, who had fallen asleep on the sofa and was startled by Sherlock's sudden words.

"Hhhmmm? Who? "

"William Moriarty. He has agreed to a meeting tomorrow evening."

John nodded curtly. "Oh, good. Well..."

John watched Sherlock's pale face that was illuminated only by the laptop screen. Sherlock's gaze was strangely empty, and John was worried. He stood up from the couch awkwardly and went to him.

"Are you all right?"

Sherlock looked at John irritated. "Why shouldn't I be?"

"I don't know?"

Sherlock looked back at the screen without doing anything. John sighed and put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"So, would you tell me your plan? And don't dare omit something or exclude me somehow. Not this time, Sherlock."

Sherlock stood up and looked at him. John's hand slowly slipped from his shoulder. They were standing very close together, and John felt himself tense up. He always did that when Sherlock invaded his personal space.

"It's dangerous."

"And here I am," John said, grinning.

He remembered their first case, when Sherlock had warned him about the dangers of his work, and Sherlock was again infected by John's grin and went to the sofa, where he let himself heavily fall into it.

"All right. That's the plan: The meeting is at an old factory site in Essex. We go out there tomorrow - together. I told William that I will bring you as my prisoner."

"Okay ... But the disguise won't last long. Once he sees you ..."

John sat down on the table in front of the sofa. Sherlock nodded.

"It doesn't have to last long. We'll just have to lure him out there and end it then."

John ran his hands over his face and pursed his lips.

"He still wants to kill you, John. I've got it in black and white from him in his response to my e-mail. No court will be able to hold him. I want you to be safe. I want our life back. We only get it back when he's gone. "

"How'd you know that?"

Sherlock answered with a questioning Do-you-really-have-to-ask-look. "Are you free tomorrow?"

"No, but I can take time off."

"Good."

"Do I have to go home now because of the sureveillance on me? Not to make Mycroft suspicious."

"Do you want to go home?"

John looked at his hands, which he had folded in his lap. "No."

Sherlock smiled slightly. "Then stay here."

"But Mycroft..."

Sherlock grinned. "Forget Mycroft. Let's go out and eat something."

"You want to eat something?"

"No, but you would have forced me anyway and I also can see that you're hungry."

John grinned and pulled Sherlock from the sofa. "Anything good in the neighbourhood?"

"Yes, around the corner 'Bacchus Pub and Kitchen'. And no surveillance cameras on the streets."

"Well then." John grinned, and only then noticed that Sherlock hadn't released his hand, yet.

~ ~

The next night, the ride to Essex was long and silent. John glanced a few times at Sherlock, but turned away quickly, when he looked back at him. John felt very calm, but he noticed that Sherlock was quite tense.

"If I didn't know better I would think you're worried," John said after a while.

Sherlock grimaced. He was angry that he couldn't control his feelings and that he was showing them so openly. He couldn't afford this weakness now. What was wrong with him? Why was he worried? One look to John was enough for him to answer his own question.

John sat quietly in the passenger seat. He wore the black clothes that Sherlock had bought him and his gun under his shirt. Around his neck were his dog tags. John Watson went to war with him, and Sherlock knew that his friend would protect him with his life. That was exactly the point. Sherlock couldn't bear if anything happened to John.

Last night, John had spent the night at Sherlock's place. They had talked late into the night and discussed details of the plan, but also talked about some trivial things. Sherlock had felt an inner calmness and satisfaction in him, which he felt only rarely. Usually it was a short-lived feeling after solving of a difficult case. But since their forced separation by his feigned death, something had changed in Sherlock. It had become clear to him that he had missed John. Previously there wasn't a problem when John was going out or vanishing to his girlfriend's for a few days. He knew that he would always come back. But during the time when he was forced to be apart from him, he had realised how much he appreciated John's presence and also needed it. If something happened to John and he lost him... Sherlock couldn't keep thinking about that. He gazed at John again, who was still looking at him expecting an answer.

"John, when we're there, please don't take unnecessary risks. When the going gets tough, please go somewhere and take cover. "

"Are you worried about me?" John asked incredulously. "I thought that would be my job. After all, you're the one who always takes unnecessary risks."

Sherlock gazed at John briefly and then looked intently at the street again.

"You are a soldier and a physician. This career choice says everything about your personality. Other people are more important to you than yourself. You would protect others, even if it cost your life. "

_And I always will. Because your life is more valuable than mine._

"So?"

"Maybe you sometimes forget that other people need you alive."

John silently looked at him. "Other people?" he finally muttered quietly.

Sherlock looked stolidly to the road and said nothing. He knew that John would understand that he had meant himself. That he needed him. But he wouldn't do John the favour of saying it out loud. For Sherlock's taste, he had already expressed far too much sentimentality.

Half an hour later, he broke his silence.

"We're here."

~ ~

Sherlock had put on a hooded sweater and pulled the hood down over his face. He and John waited in the middle of the abandoned factory site. To the untrained eye, it looked as if the two of them were standing vulnerably out there in the open, but John knew better. The place was perfect. The factory was only a few metres behind them, and the door was ajar. Huge boxes and containers were standing to their left and right, where they could quickly find protection. And they also had another ace up their sleeve.

John kneeled in front of Sherlock on the ground so that it looked like he was Sherlock's prisoner. His hands were covered with a sack. He held his gun firmly in his hand.  
It didn't take long for William to show up. He walked with slow steps on the factory forecourt. Sherlock was standing sideways to him, so that William couldn't see his face.

"Dramatic as always, my dear brother."

John shuddered as he heard the voice of William. The resemblance between the two brothers was amazing. Although William was a few years older and already had gray strands of hair, he had the same piercing eyes as Jim Moriarty.

"So dramatic that he actually shot himself in the head in front of me."

Sherlock slowly turned to William Moriarty. John would have expected any other reaction. Shock, anger, but not this. William remained totally calm. Only his eyes narrowed and then he pulled his gun to aim at Sherlock. At the same moment John had also raised and aimed at William.

"How fitting that I brought the snipers my brother hired to complete their work."

Sherlock nodded carelessly. "I would have been disappointed if it weren't so."

"Usually I enjoy sweet revenge a little longer. But let's do it quickly today."

William made a sign with his hand and grinned. When nothing happened, he looked around, confused.

"I've taken the liberty to pull your snipers out of the game after they moved into position."

"What? How?" Williams features twisted into an ugly face.

"Jim Moriarty isn't the only one with a resentful brother."

It all happened so quickly that Sherlock couldn't react. Without hesitation or warning, William Moriarty shot at Sherlock, who was pushed aside by John. Another shot was fired and William Moriarty disappeared from sight. Sherlock heard John fall to the ground with a pained gasp. Sherlock tried to stand up again and within seconds he was surrounded by men dressed in black, who helped him to his feet. Sherlock pulled away and saw William Moriarty lying dead on the ground. He turned, looking to John. John was on the ground. There was blood on the ground beside him. Too much blood. Mycroft was kneeling down beside him and placing his hands on a wound on John's chest. Sherlock let himself fall to the ground beside them, the shot still ringing loud in his ears. Mycroft said something. But Sherlock didn't hear it. Everything was so horribly quiet.


	11. Chapter 11: The violin

**Chapter 11: The violin**

Sherlock sat on the edge of the hospital bed and looked down at his unconscious friend. In this bed, John looked a little bit smaller than usual, and far too pale. A painful memory that reminded Sherlock of how barely John had escaped death. According to the doctors he would recover from the shot, but he hadn't woken up since the operation. All he could do was wait until he finally awoke.

John had been in the hospital for five days now. Since then much had happened. Sherlock was officially risen from the dead. Mycroft had done much to establish the circumstances. A fact for which Sherlock was very grateful, because he could spend more time in the hospital at John's side, though he would never confess this to his brother. Mrs Hudson was overjoyed to have Sherlock back again, although she had been angry at first. Lestrade was just perplexed about the news, but when he'd finally digested it, he shook his head and muttered, "I should have known."

He had visited John a few times in the hospital and was very surprised with Sherlock's behaviour It wasn't typical for him to spend so much time with a person who was unconscious in the hospital. He knew that Sherlock wasn't good atshowing sentimentality. But John seemed to be an exception.

Sherlock didn't annoy Lestrade with any demands for special cases of murder or something similar, when he was visiting John at the hospital. He obviously seemed to be very worried about John. Although many who knew Sherlock said he had no heart, in reference to John, it was different.

Lestrade knew the circumstances of how John was hurt and wondered if Sherlock felt guilty in some way, because the bullet was intended for him. He put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"John is a tough guy. He'll be fine."

Sherlock said nothing, just nodded. A nurse had mentioned to Lestrade that Sherlock had spent the night at John's side. He hadn't eaten nor had he drunk.

"I'm going to the cafeteria. Shall I bring you something?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"Sherlock, you have to eat or drink something."

"I don't need anything."

Lestrade sighed and tilted his head.

"Okay, I'll come back later and look after you two."

Sherlock didn't respond and Lestrade left the room, resigned. Silence settled in the room and there was no sound other than the soothing sound of the monitor registering John's heart beating and the regular shallow breathing of his friend. Sherlock glanced at John's hand lying lifeless on the bed. After some hesitation, he took it. John's fingers felt cold.

"John..." Sherlock began quietly. "Wake up, please. You have to wake up again."

Sherlock absently stroked over John's hand.

"I heard what you said at my grave. You think I'm a hero, but I'm not. You're a hero. Not just because you are always saving my life... I mean, you make my life worth living."

Sherlock winced a bit at his own words. Now that he had spoken them to him the profound truth in it was suddenly clear to him.

"John, you're not the only one who was alone. And I owe you so much more. So please wake up. Just wake up. For me."

It wasn't that Sherlock was hoping John would wake up at this moment. Life wasn't a bad TV show where people just woke up from a coma, only because their loved ones just revealed their innermost feelings and asked them to. Sherlock took a deep breath and cleared his throat. He slowly let go of John's hand. Sherlock felt an uncomfortable pulling in the chest. Maybe it was time for a cup of tea. With one last look at his sleeping friend, he left the room and headed for the cafeteria.

John opened his eyes and smiled slightly. As Sherlock had taken John's hand, he slowly regained his consciousness. He had heard Sherlock's voice, had heard the words spoken by his best friend to him. He didn't dare to open his eyes, because he didn't want him to stop. Although Sherlock always said what he thought and didn't worry about what other people think of him, or what the consequences are, he rarely spoke about his feelings. John thought about Sherlock's words. He had never thought that he was so important to Sherlock. That their feelings for each other were based on reciprocity. Of course he knew that Sherlock liked him and considered him his only friend. But that he made Sherlock's life worth living?

He was nothing special. An ex-Army doctor who followed Sherlock more like a trained dog and did everything for him. Mycroft once had asked him why he had become loyal to Sherlock so fast, even though they had just met each other. John had realised very quickly that Sherlock was a very special person. Other people didn't appreciate his brilliance and intelligence, and often responded to him with hatred and envy. He realised that he wanted to protect Sherlock.

_I mean, you make my life worth living._

John felt strangely as he thought about that sentence of Sherlock's again. He couldn't believe that Sherlock considered him so valuable and appreciated him so much. But as he thought about past events and about how Sherlock had told him why he had to fake his death, the truth sank warm into his heart and closed the deep wound that Sherlock's 'suicide' had ripped in him.

Sherlock had told him that he wanted him to be safe and not get himself into the position of risking his life for him. He knew Moriarty was going to kill John this time at their end game. That was one of the main reasons he didn't tell John of his plan. He just wanted to protect him.

Sherlock obviously had the same concern about John's life as he did. Although John didn't consider himself valuable, but Sherlock did. John realised that he wouldn't let Sherlock go through the same nightmare he had experienced when he thought his best friend ... His best friend. John grinned at the thought. Sherlock was so much more than his best friend. And after Sherlock's speech it was clear that John also was much more to him. He couldn't define what they were, but it went beyond anything John had ever experienced.

He made a promise to himself. He would work on himself. He had to find his own value again, as it was clear that he could only come back for Sherlock to be there for him when he found himself again.

At that moment the door opened and a depressed-looking Sherlock crept back into John's hospital room. Sherlock looked at John's face in surprise. Grey blue clearly awake eyes looked into his bright blue and Sherlock's amazement gave way to a wide grin as John smiled at him.

"John, you're awake!"

"Obviously," he croaked, his voice not yet accustomed to speaking.

Sherlock smirked, walked over and sat down on the bed.

"How are you?"

"Like someone shot me. Again."

"You shouldn't let this become a habit."

"No. Not really."

"You got him, by the way. William Moriarty is dead."

"Of course I got him. Have you ever seen me miss?"

Sherlock shook his head slightly.

"Thank you, John. That was really ... You know. But please don't do that again. I don't want to have a new roommate."

"Don't worry. I'll do my best."

Sherlock nodded and put his hand on his, which irritated John at first but he allowed it.

"I'll call Mrs Hudson and tell her that you're awake. She's been worried sick."

"So everything is okay?"

Sherlock nodded. "Everything is as it was before. You just have to come home. "

~ ~

A few days later John was finally released. Sherlock picked him up and they went home together. John was surprised to see that the condition of the apartment hadn't changed since he left. In Sherlock's absence he had cleaned up the apartment and done everything properly. During his time in hospital he had expected to find a mess when he got back home.

"It's so neat."

"You've cleaned everything. I've tried to keep it that way," muttered Sherlock.

John pursed his lips and nodded, surprised. He went to his chair and sat down wearily. Although he was released from the hospital, his complete recovery would still take a while.

"Does that mean it'll look clean in here from now on?"

"I wouldn't bet on it," Sherlock grinned and brought John a cup of tea from the kitchen.

He gladly accepted, while Sherlock sat down beside him on the sofa.

"One thing has surprised me," Sherlock said finally.

"Mmmhh?" declared John, as he sipped his tea carefully.

"You've cleaned up everything, but my violin was still there exactly where I left it."

"I don't know. You'd put it there and told me that you wanted to continue to compose your new piece after the case. It sounds silly, but I couldn't move it somewhere else, because I still hoped you come back."

Sherlock thought briefly about John's words.

"You're right. It sounds silly. Shall I play for you?"

John smiled and nodded. Sherlock took his violin and went to the window. He smilingly looked out on the street with its traffic and the people walking by. Their adventure will continue. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson together again at Baker Street.

And as Sherlock began to play John could feel it, just by watching and listening to his friend. At that moment he felt that his personal world was back in balance. He was back home. Home was 221b Baker Street together with Sherlock.


End file.
